


dirty summer

by stainedglassbirds



Series: the stars have left but we're still here [1]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Anxiety, Dewey Duck Has ADHD, Dissociation, Gen, Its implied, Protective Siblings, Trans Female Huey Duck, blood and death are mentioned, familial and platonic relationships ONLY, shes figuring it out, theyre also nonbinary... they like huey have not figured out their transness yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:36:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25364737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stainedglassbirds/pseuds/stainedglassbirds
Summary: “There’s a clothing store,” Webby whispers, staring intently across the street.It’s the last thing Louie expects her to say. “What? Uh… okay?”
Relationships: Dewey Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck & Webby Vanderquack, Dewey Duck & Louie Duck, Huey Duck & Louie Duck, Louie Duck & Webby Vanderquack
Series: the stars have left but we're still here [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1833901
Comments: 6
Kudos: 56





	dirty summer

**Author's Note:**

> i want to note: im writing everything out of order. why? idk. so this isnt after the other fic, its actually pretty early on. im not going to give the timeline of every fic i write but i think you can parse it out easy enough

Webby holds out an arm, silently telling them to stop as she halts. Louie holds his breath. God, he does _not_ want to see anymore of those… he feels dumb still, calling them zombies, but that’s what they are. Rotting, reanimated corpses stumbling around and infecting the world. The creaking of bones is the worst part.  
  
“There’s a clothing store,” Webby whispers, staring intently across the street.  
  
It’s the last thing Louie expects her to say. “What? Uh… okay?”  
  
Huey and Dewey give him the _look_. The look they generally give when he’s being a _bit_ of an asshole. He doesn’t pay them any mind.  
  
“Y’know, for us to be fully covered,” Webby explains, waving a hand. “It leaves less room to be bitten and infected. We need pants, gloves, shoes… Huey, you’ll need a jacket too, since you have short sleeves.”  
  
Huey nods. Louie frowns. “Are we sure that’s how zombies work? Movies aren’t the same as real life.”  
  
“If zombies aren’t like that I’m gonna be pretty disappointed,” Dewey comments.  
  
“I’d rather _not_ be eaten, Dewey.”  
  
Huey pulls out his guidebook with his free hand, the other occupied by Louie tightly gripping onto his arm. “The junior woodchuck guidebook has a detailing of zombies behaviors,” he says, flipping through the pages presumably to find that section he apparently has in it.  
  
“Why do you have a section on zombies?” Louie asks exasperatedly. He’s not surprised, but really? It feels like what Huey’s willing to believe in is completely random.  
  
“Because he’s a nerd,” Dewey helpfully supplies, “Zombie’s are cool, though, so this is cool nerd stuff.”  
  
Louie nods thoughtfully. Huey looks unsure on if he should be offended or not.  
  
Webby seems to have mastered the art of ignoring them. She continues on easily. “I know a lot about zombies, people have actually gotten them pretty accurate in shows. We’ll need the covering.”  
  
“Isn’t this gonna be stealing? We’re literally stealing clothes,” Huey inquires.  
  
Webby hums uncomfortably, obviously having not thought of that. “Well… if it affects anything, we can just pay for the clothes after all of this is over. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind,” she decides.  
  
Bless her heart.  
  
“Alright, we’re crossing the street quickly and _quietly_. Hold hands and stay low. If you see a zombie, don’t freak out.” Webby crouches closer to the ground, pulling out her dagger. Louie and his brothers mimic the action. “Three… two… one… _go_.”  
  
The asphalt is damp from yesterday's rain. Wind pricks at his feathers, creating goosebumps on his skin, or maybe it’s his heart pounding in anxiety. He can hear his siblings soft breaths, the light sound of feet falling onto the road accompanying it. Louie never paid attention to little things like this before, but he supposes that was when you didn’t have to keep track of _zombies_.  
  
Crossing a street has never been more nerve wracking. Being out here is too _exposing_ , like something is lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce. Subconsciously, he grips tighter onto Huey’s arm.  
  
They make it across the street.  
  
 _Thank god_.  
  
Louie finally breathes a sigh of relief when they ever so quietly enter the building, and lets himself relax just a little bit. They’re still not in the clear, considering there could be any amount of zombies lurking in the store.  
  
“I’ll scout, stay here,” Webby orders. The three of them nod, and she gives a reassuring smile, then drops into a semi-crouch, sneaking through the store and is out of sight in a matter of seconds.  
  
Louie doesn’t let go of Huey just yet. Dewey’s hand is still in his. It seems they’re all in agreement of being slightly terrified.  
  
It’s silent.  
  
Louie privately hates it.  
  
As much as he can complain about either of his brothers talking so much and all the time about anything and everything, as _much_ as he likes being able to have periods of nice quiet, this is… wrong. They’re not quiet because they’re hanging out, doing their own things in a relaxed, comfortable state of happiness. They’re quiet out of a shaky fear that’s rooted deep into their bones.  
  
The idea that even his brothers, even ever so courageous _Dewey_ is being affected too might be the worst thing about this. Outside of the literal zombies, of course.  
  
Webby comes back a few minutes later and it feels like a few eternities.  
  
“We’re good,” she confirms. His brothers noticeably relax, and he does too, tension finally leaving his shoulders. “Um, avoid the area behind the front desk, though. There’s not anything terrible there!” she quickly corrects when their faces pale. “Just some blood.”  
  
“Just some blood,” Louie repeats faintly. Huey reassuringly pats him.  
  
Webby twirls a strand of her hair. “Well! We should get to it. If you need help, scream or something.”  
  
“We should all come back here when we’re done too, or if anything happens,” Huey suggests, “To make sure we can find each other easily.”  
  
Wait, are they _seriously_ —  
  
“Oh! Good idea, Huey! Alright, everyone take thirty minutes tops. Stay safe guys, love you!” Webby exclaims, before promptly dashing off into some unknown section of the store.  
  
—splitting up.  
  
Great.  
  
“Is splitting up _really_ a good idea? Because I don’t think it is. We’ve all watched the horror movies. You split up, then everyone dies.” Louie whispers. Now, Louie isn’t a scaredy cat, because this is an extremely rational thing to worry about. Very reasonable, he would indeed say. The fated horror movie pattern runs through his head like a badly made picture book. He grimaces.  
  
“Usually not everyone dies,” Huey starts, waving a hand. “Aside from that, Webby can handle her own.”  
  
Louie frowns, glaring at nothing. A disgruntled noise is his response. Huey’s _right_ , Webby is absolutely capable of like… fighting God or something, but… still.  
  
There’s always that darn _still_.  
  
Dewey gasps. Louie briefly panics for a moment before realizing it’s one out of excitement— annnd Dewey’s now dashing through the store presumably because he saw something cool, leaving just Huey and him.  
  
 _Great_.  
  
The now empty space in his hand feels uncomfortable. He clings tighter to Huey.  
  
“You’re staying with me?” Huey asks.  
  
Louie nods.  
  
“Alright.” Huey easily moves around even with Louie clinging so hard to him it’d probably bring down the Eiffel Tower.  
  
The clothing store isn’t anything too fancy, more akin to something they’d shop at back when it was just them and Uncle Donald. Louie never liked going out too much, preferring to lounge inside, but they’re fond memories.  
  
Heat simmers in his throat at the thought of his Uncle. He really, _really_ hopes he’s okay. He has to be. ...Louie doesn’t know what he’d do if he wasn’t.  
  
He’s torn from the thoughts he didn’t want to be thinking about anyways when Huey comes to a sudden stop. Louie almost rams into his back, blinking hard and readjusting his senses.  
  
“Oh, hey Webby!” Huey says, waving a hand, and Louie belatedly realizes why Huey stopped in the first place.  
  
Webby is crouched in an aisle of shoes, examining a pair of cute, light blue rain boots she’s holding. The examination seems intense. She blinks at Huey’s voice, looking up. “Oh! Hi Huey, hi Louie!”  
  
“Those are cute.” Huey peers at the boots Webby’s holding.  
  
“I know, right? I love rain boots,” Webby sighs. “In terms of practicality they’re not very high on the list, but definitely better than sneakers.”  
  
Louie-who-wears-sneakers-if-needed-to-wear-shoes-Duck takes offense to that. He decides to graciously ignore it this time though in favor of a question suddenly itching at him, his memory bringing him back to a specific sentence Webby casually dropped in. It'd probably be smart to learn more about the situation they're in, he thinks, walking up to Webby and leaning down to look at her.   
  
“Webs, you said you know a lot about zombies," Louie starts, "Is it just the you got bitten, now you’re a zombie kind of deal, or…” He waves a hand.  
  
Webby glances to Louie. “Oh, y’know. It’s more like a poison instead of being sick? Like, it kills you in minutes—”  
  
“Nevermind.”  
  
Webby shrugs, unoffended. “Alright.”  
  
He wanders through the shoe aisle. Not wanting to waste time, plus there isn’t much to see, he decides to grab the nearest shoes to him that won’t clash horribly with his hoodie. They end up being a pair of dark green sneakers.  
  
Louie suddenly realizes the lack of another person beside him.  
  
He looks around, trying to spy any piece of red— and Huey's gone. Louie screams a little internally. He left, and Louie has _no idea_ when.

Absolutely amazing.  
  
Louie always stops paying attention at the worst time.  
  
He sighs, opting to succumb to his fate and starts wandering around aimlessly, hoping to find one of his brothers. When he thinks about it, he probably could have just stayed with Webby, but he’s already halfway across the store god knows where and his sense of direction is the worst. Whatever.  
  
Bright blue catches his eye. He tries not to show his relief when he rounds the corner and sees Dewey standing by a rack of gloves.  
  
“Louie!” Dewey calls, grinning. He wiggles his fingers at Louie when he walks closer, showing off the fingerless gloves he’s wearing. “Don’t these look cool?”  
  
“Those gloves are a crime against humanity,” Louie immediately replies.  
  
“Ugh, you have no sense of style.”  
  
“Besides, you need to cover your entire hand,” he points out. He’s not _super_ concerned, but he doesn’t want to risk anything.  
  
Anxiety curls in his stomach at just the thought.  
  
Dewey groans, but relents, taking them off. It seems he had a backup pair in mind because he immediately grabs another set of gloves, black with the tips of it being light blue. The gloves were almost made for Dewey with how fitting they are for him.  
  
“Are _these_ up to your weird, strange sense of standards?” Dewey asks. It’s a joke, but Louie knows he wants Louie to like them.  
  
Dewey has a bad habit of basing his self esteem on others validation.  
  
Louie shrugs. “Better than the other ones, so yes.” Dewey huffs, but seems satisfied with the response.  
  
Louie, once again, doesn’t put very much thought into what he picks out. He does want to look good, obviously, but they’re also in the middle of an apocalypse and he’s not looking for a fashion show. He ends up sliding on a pair of soft, black gloves, then turns to Dewey. ‘“M gonna go find Huey. Don’t die.”  
  
Dewey salutes. Louie gives a half-hearted one back.  
  
“Oh, wait! Where’s Webby?”  
  
Louie pauses in the midst of leaving. “Shoe aisle last time I checked? Talking about zombies and poison… eugh.” He shudders.  
  
Dewey seems similarly bothered by the prospect. “ _Poison?_ Zombie’s are poisonous?”  
  
“I dunno.”  
  
Dewey hums. “Poisonous zombies… torn between being in awe or terrified. I’ll go ask Webby more about it, thanks Louie!” he smiles brightly, turning and dashing through the various racks of clothes.  
  
Louie waves to the empty space, and begins walking in the opposite direction from where Dewey left.  
  
It doesn’t take long for him to find Huey, his signature red shirt easy to spot— Louie starts thinking everyone's brightly identifiable colors might end up being an issue— but specifically, Huey stopped in front of a section of skirts.  
  
He’s staring at them in obvious hesitation, somewhat fidgeting. Louie isn’t sure when Huey’s going to figure out his gender deal, but he hopes it’s soon.  
  
“Hey,” Louie says.  
  
Huey yelps, jumping. “ _Wh_ — Oh, uh!” Huey sighs in relief, staring at Louie. Louie can see him come to a slow realization when suddenly he locks up again, sweating profusely with a nervous smile. “I’m not doing anything! Um. Yep. Nothing at all. _Sowhatareyoudoing?_ ”  
  
Louie blinks. “I’m standing here, talking to you.”  
  
The nervousness washes away as Huey’s expression drops into an unamused frown. “Very funny.”  
  
“I aim to please.”  
  
Huey rolls his eyes, moving away to a different section, but still in Louie’s line of sight. He discreetly nabs the dark red skirt Huey was looking at, then follows Huey, quietly browsing the clothes. He can almost pretend this is just a normal shopping trip on a normal day, and they're not doing this to prevent themselves from turning into horrific monsters all because of a _curse_. He never liked curses, but now, he's really starting to despise them.  
  
They stand in silence for a few minutes. Huey, unsurprisingly, is the one to break it.  
  
“Do you… think they’re okay?” Huey asks softly, voice barely a whisper. Louie stills. “Mom, Uncle Donald and Scrooge, I mean. They were trapped and there were— there were _so many_ zombies, what if they didn’t—”  
  
 _Humanity is not worthy._  
  
Huey is still talking, hands beginning to shake. Meaningless static fills his ears, washing out the world piece by piece.  
  
They could be dead. They could have been eaten and torn apart right in that cave, and none of them would even know until they run into them as rotting corpses.  
  
Louie’s moving before he even registers it.  
  
“ _Huey_.” He’s not sure when he grabbed Huey’s arm. “Mom survived the moon for ten years, Uncle Donald is still alive which is impressive in itself, Uncle Scrooge is a world renowned _immortal_ adventurer. Some _stupid_ zombie’s aren’t going to kill them.”  
  
Huey’s suddenly hugging him. The embrace shatters the haze.  
  
Louie blinks.  
  
The carpet beneath him is stiff and flat. Color-coded clothes line the wall, a few cracks in the paint showing imperfection. There’s always a specific tang to the air in clothing stores that fill his senses. The weight in his head feels like the kind produced after a long car ride, when he’s dizzy and tired and just wants to sleep for a million years.  
  
Huey's talking. He should listen.   
  
“You’re right, you’re _right_ , they have to be alive," Huey murmurs. "I’m just…” He pulls away, staring at the floor. “scared something will happen.”  
  
“I’m always right.”  
  
Huey glares at him. He lazily smiles in return.  
  
Louie thinks back to the weird, disorientating haze he was in. Dissociation. Fun. He hopes it won't happen again. A zombie apocalypse is probably the worst time for your brain to conk out and stop perceiving things. ...He really wants to believe his family is okay. He thinks he does. His words felt _true_.  
  
But just like Huey, he's still scared.  
  
“Guys! There you are!”  
  
Huey and Louie jolt as Webby’s voice suddenly cuts through the air, the girl herself sliding to a stop in front of them. Dewey comes in right behind her, panting heavily. He vaguely gestures with his hands, attempting to say something but stops himself short, instead opting to take a moment to breathe.  
  
Huey’s eyes go wide. “What happened?”  
  
“There’s a hoard of zombies coming this way, we need to hurry and get out of here,” Webby explains.  
  
Louie automatically takes in Webby’s new appearance. Her hair is tied in a short ponytail by her bow, dark leggings and gloves covering her along with the rain boots she was looking at earlier. Then what she said sets in.  
  
“Dammit,” Louie mutters, more out of panic than frustration.  
  
Huey seems to be feeling the same, hurriedly throwing on a nearby parker jacket and taking a pair of shoes Webby gives him.  
  
In the midst of the franticness to finish up, Louie sidles up next to Webby. He opens up her backpack and shoves in the skirt. At her reasonable bewilderment he whispers, “Huey didn’t have the guts to get it.”  
  
Webby’s beak opens in a silent _oh_. It morphs into a smile of understanding.  
  
She then turns to the group. “There’s a back entrance, we’re going through there. Follow my lead.” Wasting no time, she immediately heads to the back, the rest of them hot at her feet.  
  
Webby opens the door, swiftly and quietly. She takes a quick scan before gesturing for the rest of them to head out, closing the door behind her.  
  
Louie immediately understands the severity of the situation when they pass behind the store, and he catches a glimpse of— _fuck_ that's a lot of zombies. He tenses, watching them through the passage between the clothing store and another building.   
  
Swallowing, he wills fear to not overtake him, and pushes onward.


End file.
